Shape Of You
by cluelessclown
Summary: Sybil attends a costume party with her sisters and meets a certain Irishman who seems to appreciate Annie Hall as a true seventies feminist icon. Modern AU, two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Sybil glanced quietly at the tie and vest she was meant to wear for her _Annie Hall_ costume later that night and wondered quietly why on Earth had she ever told her sisters she would go.

She had never thought her life would be half as chaotic as it was by the time she turned twenty-three. She had moved to London after graduating from Nursery school, with her then-boyfriend Larry; her sisters already lived there, and she felt like living in the city would do them good before settling down elsewhere. Everything seemed almost idyllic during their first months in the city – Larry acted like the perfect boyfriend, and she found out she actually enjoyed working at Whittington Hospital and spending her free evenings with her sisters, with the occasional company of Mary's boyfriend, a handsome lawyer and a distant cousin of theirs that she had met at some social event right after finishing university. Sybil had started feeling like she could get used to living the way she did at that time – that is, until she found Larry in bed with a fellow nurse and recent friend that she had once brought home for dinner after work.

She couldn't really recall what had happened after that. Larry had tried to explain himself, she had slapped him, he had yelled, and she had stormed out of the house and walked to her sisters' flat in the dead of night, even though they lived over an hour away from her. Edith had let her sleep with her that night, and within a week Matthew and Mary had arranged a meeting with Larry to get her things from their flat – and, knowing her older sister, very possibly throw a couple of venomous insults here and there as they said goodbye – and turned the small room they had been using for their old things into a bedroom for Sybil.

And that was, in short, how she had ended up living with her older sisters, working at a hospital where nobody knew her, and quietly making her way through the noisiest city in Great Britain.

"Come on, Syb!" pleaded Edith, rubbing her little sister's arm gently. "You already bought your costume, and Larry told cousin Rose he wouldn't be going because he was busy tonight. Plus Mary's coming, even if it's just because Matthew talked her into it."

"Watch it, Edith," mumbled Mary as she gave the finishing touches to her Hermione Granger costume. After glancing at her younger sisters, she sighed and took a seat next to them. "But she has a point, Sybil. It's ought to be a fun party, and you shouldn't miss it just because you feel like whining about a break-up that happened over two months ago. You should go out and enjoy yourself a little – Matthew could always drive us back home if you don't feel well."

Sybil's eyebrows rose at her sister's words. "Would he?"

"Well, yes, you know Matthew. Always trying to please everyone," even as she did a little scoff, a small smile spread across Mary's face at the thought of her now fairly serious boyfriend. "Anyway, you should _really_ consider it, Syb. You're going to have to get out of the flat sooner or later."

The girl scratched her cheek quietly. To be fair, she hadn't changed out of her slacks and _Stranger Things_ t-shirts ever since she broke up with Larry – and she did feel like she needed to get over Larry somehow.

"I guess I shouldn't miss the chance to catch the tube with both of you dressed up in such fancy outfits, should I?" she whispered, a small smile on her face.

Edith hugged her with a broad smile, while Mary chuckled softly and nodded. "Very well then, off you go. We should be there before eleven."

"All right, all right. I'll be back soon," she giggled, picking up her tie and vest as she headed towards her room. Before closing the door, she flashed a smile towards her sisters. "Thank you. Seriously."

Mary nodded in a dismissing gesture. "It's no problem at all, Syb. Come on, hurry now."

Sybil couldn't help but laugh quietly as she closed the door.

* * *

It took them over an hour to get to the club where the party was being held, and indeed, people did give them funny looks while waiting for the tube – which amused Sybil to no end, because Mary's mean glances couldn't be taken seriously when she was wearing a Hogwarts uniform and claiming to be "the brightest witch of her age". Edith, in spite of feeling a little uneasy about standing out, did giggle quietly when a young girl recognized her Leia Skywalker costume and pointed it out to her mother.

"How come nobody recognizes my costume?" pouted Sybil as they waited for Matthew at the entrance of the tube station. "I mean, Annie Hall was one of the first cinematic feminists of modern Hollywood."

"I'm sorry, darling," Mary said with a sigh. "I'm sure she's really important and all that, but a Woody Allen character can hardly beat _Harry Potter_ and _Star Wars_."

"For the record, _Annie Hall_ is a really good film, Sybil." A familiar voice said behind them.

The girl grinned as Matthew winked an eye at her and Edith and gave Mary a quick kiss on the cheek, which made her older sister's face turn just a little redder than it was before. She had always marveled at how her sister's usually straight face would change whenever he was around – no one, not even their father, had managed to accomplish such a thing.

"You're late," Mary mumbled sternly, pointing at his chest with her wand. "And you're not even wearing a costume, you traitor."

"Oh, but I _am_ wearing one," he replied with a lopsided smile. "Remember when we went to see _La La Land_? Well, I thought I'd dress up as Ryan Gosling in it. For the sake of Thelonious Monk and classic Hollywood and all that jazz. Ha, pun totally intended."

"Ha, ha," deadpanned Mary, rolling her eyes. "That's hardly a costume, Matthew. You're just wearing a shirt and a tie with – wait, are those piano tiles?"

"Yup."

"Well, that _is_ quite nice."

"It is, right?"

"Um, I'm sorry to interrupt," said Edith. "But we should get going, because we're going to be late otherwise."

"That is quite right, Edith," agreed Matthew, and offered Mary one last smile before adding, "Let's get going."

Sybil chuckled quietly and watched as the two of them walked hand in hand, talking about how genuinely stressing Mary's job at the Chamber of Commons was and how Matthew knew the guy who had organized the party because they had gone to university together, back in Manchester. She couldn't help but feel only a little jealous – after all, she hadn't had so much as a date ever since she broke up with Larry, let alone a serious relationship like theirs. In fact, Matthew and her father were the only men she felt relatively close to at the moment – and, while her ruthlessly feminist side kept reminding her that she didn't need a man in her life to be happy, she sometimes missed feeling the way Mary probably did whenever she saw Matthew after a long day at work.

"You know, I think they were talking about moving in together the other day," Edith whispered with a smile. "So you might get to move to Mary's room sooner than Mama and Papa would expect."

"Well, that would be great," Sybil said. "I mean, look at them. Mary has _never_ looked this happy before."

"I know, right? She looks so _dreamy_ all the time. It's not like her at all."

Sybil giggled at her sister's words, but bit her lip with a smile as Matthew and Mary glanced at them.

"We're here, you two," Mary said, her eyebrows rising at her sisters' amused expressions. When Sybil couldn't hold back a chuckle, she rolled her eyes and mumbled something about younger sisters as they walked in.

The club didn't look particularly fancy, much to Mary's distaste; Sybil, however, didn't seem to mind it at all. She glanced around and laughed at a few costumes she saw – particularly at a man dressed up as Frank N. Furter from _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ and two friends who wore identical wigs and dresses and appeared to be some sort of adult version of the twins from _The Shining_. She didn't really know anyone there, unlike her sisters – after all, they had both lived in the city for much longer than her. In fact, Sybil sometimes felt a little overwhelmed by the amount of people her older sisters seemed to know there – which was exactly why they lost Edith only a few minutes after their arrival, when she said she had spotted some friends from university that she hadn't seen in forever and, after quickly telling her sisters that she would text one of them later to see how things were going, she stormed off to greet them.

"Well, we've already lost one member of the gang," commented Mary, her eyebrows rising. "I think she used to date the one in the cowboy outfit. He was way older than her, though."

"Oh, yes, the one who taught Economics at King's College, right?" asked Matthew. "I hope he's doing all right. Seemed like a nice chap back in the day."

"I think I'm going to get something to drink," Sybil announced, not quite following the conversation. "Do you want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks," said Matthew, and then eyed Mary with a funny expression. "But I do feel like dancing for a while if that's okay with you."

"Oh, heavens, well. If it's absolutely necessary," sighed her older sister. She then looked at Sybil with a slight frown. "Are you sure you'll be all right on your own, Syb?"

"Don't worry, I'll survive," she answered with a small smile. "Go enjoy yourself. And your boyfriend. Always enjoy your boyfriend." She stuck her tongue out and laughed when Mary smacked her arm lightly. "Joking, joking. But seriously, you two should go have fun."

"Very well then," said Matthew and, with a rather goofy smile, raised his eyebrows at his girlfriend. "Can I have this dance, m'lady?"

"I can't believe you sometimes," Mary laughed quietly, but nodded nevertheless.

Sybil waved goodbye to them, and then started making her way towards the bar. It was already quite crammed – she barely managed to make herself some space and order a pint of beer before a couple started exploring each other's mouths next to her. Trying her best not to roll her eyes, she carefully took hold of her beer and turned around in an attempt to leave – only to bump into a broader chest, covered by a bright red jacket and a white shirt that had been gracefully adorned with a French Revolution cockade. He was a bit taller than her, with broad shoulders and a round face – which, in spite of her initial annoyance, was undeniably attractive.

"Um, excuse me," she said, furrowing her brow. "Could you let me through?"

"Oh, yes, totally." He nodded, in a surprisingly polite way. His accent was thick and easily identifiable as Irish. "Sorry about that, Annie Hall."

"Don't wor—" she began, but raised her eyebrows when she realized what he had called her. "Wait, how did you know I'm Annie Hall?"

"Well, it's fairly a recognizable costume, isn't it?" He shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I'm not much of a film buff, but that one's a pretty good film."

"It is, isn't it?" she eyed him carefully as she spoke, and felt somewhat intimidated by the pair of stormy blue eyes that met hers. "And you're dressed up as . . . let me guess, you're one of those revolutionaries from _Les Misérables_ , right?"

"Yes, exactly," he beamed proudly. "Enjolras, to be more precise. You know, the one who stirs up the uprising and then dies defending his country and all that."

"I remember, yes. I think I had to read the book back in school. Or I saw the film when it came out. Either way, it's all so . . . charmingly nineteenth-century. I mean, because of the revolutionary spirit and all that."

"Well, some revolutions had to wait until the twentieth century to take place, didn't they? And I'm not just talking about Russia."

"That's very true, James Connolly."

She chuckled softly when she saw how he rolled his eyes and ordered a pint of Guinness. Of _course_. The man was so unbelievably Irish she was beginning to think it was all a practical joke set up by her sisters – but then again, she didn't think he looked like the kind of person who would befriend Edith or Mary.

"It's nice that you'd call me James Connolly," he said, his pint now in his hand. "But my name is actually Tom Branson."

"Oh, well . . . nice to meet you then, Tom Branson. I'm Sybil Crawley."

"Sybil. Like the one in Greek mythology, right?"

"Almost, but not quite."

They both laughed, and Sybil couldn't help but feel how a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when he nodded towards a small table away from the dance floor. "Would you like to sit down for a while? I lost my friends around half an hour ago and I'm sort of exhausted – I'm not used to this sort of gatherings anymore, to be honest."

" _Gatherings_ , my God. You sound like my father," she giggled. "But yes, sure, sitting works for me."

As they took a seat, he briefly explained that he was a political journalist and usually covered a lot of events involving the Labour Party – although he leaned a bit more towards Marxism, as he confessed before taking a sip from his beer. She then told him about her job at the hospital and how she didn't quite feel at home in London just yet.

"Why so?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Well, it's just that . . . I don't know, I live with my older sisters, and I don't really know anyone around here."

"Oh, well. Now you know me, don't you?"

"Yes, I guess I do," she nodded before sipping her beer. _And he's good company, as far as I can tell_ , she thought. "Anyway – you said you came here with your friends? And you lost them?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, I'm friends with a couple of them, but it's just coworkers mostly," he shrugged and, after a pause, leaned in to whisper. "There's this guy, Thomas. I think he hates me. But then again, he seems to hate everyone in the office, except for this other coworker named Jimmy. My friend William thinks he fancies him or something like that."

"By God, isn't that saucy." Sybil laughed, shaking her head. However, her smile broadened when she identified the song that came up next. "Wait, that's one of the new songs by Ed Sheeran!" Her eyebrows rose when she heard him huff. "What?"

" _Please_ don't tell me you like Ed Sheeran." He groaned, shaking his head.

"Why not? His songs are sweet. Besides, you should like him too. He sings about Irish people and stuff."

His eyebrows rose with a vague hint of condescendence, mixed with amusement. "Irish people and stuff."

"Well, yes, I don't know. He does give you all some good rep, doesn't he?"

"Having some English guy sing corny songs about Irish girls is hardly _good rep_ , Sybil."

"Whatever." She chuckled and offered him her hand. "Let's dance, shall we?"

"Whatever . . . " he mocked her, shaking his head, and downed his beer before standing up too. "I can't believe I'm doing this, honestly."

But, strangely enough, he didn't offer much resistance when she placed her hands on his shoulders and began swaying to the rhythm of the song. In fact, he did seem quite amused by the sight of her humming to the lyrics as they danced – he even laughed a little when she began singing more enthusiastically towards the beginning of the chorus. She, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel how her heart raced a just a little bit faster when he winked an eye at her as the song came to an end.

"Well, I'll admit that _was_ sort of fun after all," he reckoned with a small smile, as they got a little closer for the next song.

"I told you," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "They better play the one where he says he wants to marry an Irish girl."

"They better _not_ , I tell you." They laughed and danced together for a couple more songs, in a surprising intimacy for two people who had just met. However, before Sia's latest hit was over, Tom leaned towards her and whispered into her ear, "You know, I've an idea."

"Oh, really? What is it?" She asked, an amused expression on her face.

"We should get out of here."

Sybil's eyebrows rose at his proposal. She had never been the sort of girl who just wanders off with a stranger in the middle of the night – but then again, she did feel like she knew Tom Branson fairly well, even if they had only known each other for the past couple of hours. He was undeniably attractive, but she had also found out that he was warm and gentle and funny – and Sybil felt like that was more than enough for the time being.

"Well," she said finally, the corners of her lips turning up into a smile. "I think that's a great idea, Tom Branson."

He grinned, and she couldn't help but grin too. For the night was young, and they were both more than willing to see what it had to offer – particularly, Sybil thought, if a handsome Irishman who appreciated Annie Hall as a feminist icon was involved.

* * *

 **Well, that was my first attempt at writing some Sybil/Tom, just because I'm halfway through Series Four and I'm still not over my precious babies not being together because of Lord Grantham's poor choices *cough*. Anyway, this is actually the first part to a two-shot, so I'll try and have the second part up by tomorrow or Monday – I've also been thinking of writing a longer WWII AU that will include both Sybil/Tom and Mary/Matthew, so stay tuned for that too.**

 **Anyway – got any thoughts? Any ideas or predictions about what might happen to Sybil and Tom while they're away, wandering through the streets of London? Let me know via review!**

 **-cluelessclown.**


	2. Chapter 2

London could be a chilly city in the spring, but the night that welcomed Sybil and Tom when they came out of the club was relatively warm. The girl eyed her companion with a small smile as he took off his bright red jacket and folded it over his arm, a feeling of warmth and easiness rushing through her body as she realized that he was looking at her too.

"Is it colder in Dublin this time of the year?" she asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

"Not really, no. A bit damper, maybe," he answered, a slightly nostalgic expression taking hold of his face at the thought of his hometown. "But it's not a big deal. We Dubliners are used to our inclement weather." The warm chuckle that escaped Tom's lips made Sybil smile.

"It's a bit colder where I come from, honestly." She said with a shrug. "But alas, as you have already pointed out, the weather's usually a whole lot nicer in the South, anyway."

"Ah, but I thought you were a true, born-and-raised Londoner?"

She laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. I was born in Yorkshire, near . . . well, near York, however redundant that sounds."

"Not really, no." He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "But you never struck me as a country girl, Sybil Crawley. I mean, judging from your accent and all."

"Ah, well, I'm a box full of surprises," she teased; perhaps a bit nervously, as she didn't quite think he would approve of the reason why her accent sounded as polished and perfectly Southern English. However, she added, "What about you? Where in Ireland are you from, Mr. James Connolly?"

"Bray. It's a little coastal town, only a few minutes away from Dublin by car," he explained. "I lived there for over twenty years, even while I went to college. I really miss it sometimes, but you know – England isn't as terrible as my brother told me it would be."

She observed him quietly as they both made their way through the street, and smiled at how he shuffled his feet as he walked. She didn't know whether he did it out of uneasiness at the thought of his brother or if he was merely a shy man – one way or another, she found it terribly endearing.

"Ah, so there's a brother?" she questioned, inadvertently tiptoeing as she walked next to him.

"Yep," he answered, nodding his head carefully. "Name's Kieran. He's a bit older than me, but we haven't seen each other much lately."

"Why so?"

"Well . . . we're too different, I guess." He shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable at the mention of his older brother. "I mean, we did get along when we were little. He would always pick on me, but I sort of accepted it because he was my older brother and . . . well, you know how that works, with your older sisters and all. But then I got a scholarship and started taking the train to Dublin every day, while he stayed home and worked at me Da's workshop. Then we just sort of drifted apart, especially when I moved here and he decided to stay in Ireland. He's always thought I felt like I was too good to stay, when in reality I left because I felt like I needed some time away from Ireland before going back."

"Oh." She bit her lip quietly and, out of pure instinct, reached for his hand and gently squeezed it. "I'm sorry. My older sisters and I haven't always gotten along, but . . . well, I do live with them, after all." She quickly pulled away when she noticed that his blue eyes were gazing at her. "Anyway – you said you got a scholarship? That's amazing, you must have been quite the smart kid. A child prodigy, perhaps?"

"Not really," he shrugged in what seemed like a modest gesture, although Sybil knew that it probably meant that he didn't want to acknowledge that she was right. "I wanted to study History and Political Science at Trinity College, so I applied for a full scholarship – because well, my family wouldn't have been able to afford it otherwise. And I somehow got accepted and ended up studying there."

Sybil did a small chuckle and shook her head. "Well, that proves my theory."

"Which theory?" He replied, somewhat amused.

"That I, fortunately enough, struck up a conversation with the smartest guy in that club."

A grin seemed to spread through Tom's face after that, and Sybil couldn't help but laugh a little. They walked together in silence for a few minutes – he kicking small pebbles quietly, she observing every movement his body made. She couldn't quite believe she had walked away from the club where both of her sisters had last seen her with a complete stranger . . . but she had, and she was enjoying every minute of it. Even though she had met Tom only a little over a couple of hours ago, she already felt like she knew him since forever – she knew that he was kind and intelligent and idealistic and sometimes even a bit shy. And of course, she also knew that he was _very_ attractive. She even had to remind herself that she had just gotten out of a rather spiky relationship, and that she shouldn't be daydreaming – or would it be considered _nightdreaming_ , given the time of the day? – about another man, no matter how sweet or blond or Irish or incredibly funny he was.

"So what did you study?" he asked finally, breaking her train of thought. "And what brought you to London?"

"Well, I went to Medical School at Cambridge for a couple of years, but then I sort of dropped it because I realized I wanted to be a nurse," she explained. "So I studied Nursing at the University of York, because there wasn't an actual Nursing program at Cambridge – I gather they're too stuck-up for such _lowly_ studies, God forbid people having aspirations other than being lawyers or doctors or quantum physicists – and then moved here because I got a job at Whittington Hospital, near Finsbury Park."

"God, Cambridge. Talk about being smart," he said, his eyebrows raised in genuine awe, and also in a feeble gesture of amusement towards her little rant about her first university.

She couldn't help but blush a little at this – after all, she had grown up under the shadow of Mary's absolutely perfect academic record, first at their school and then at Oxford, and nobody had ever really congratulated her on her own merits. In fact, her parents had always sort of taken for granted that she would follow her older sister's footsteps and become a Nobel Prize laureate or the doctor who would discover the cure for cancer – and of course, when they found out that their youngest daughter wanted little other than tending to patients and making their lives easier, Sybil couldn't help but feel like they looked a slightly disappointed, even after her mother told her that all they wanted was for her to be happy.

"So you're here on duty, as my Grandpa would say," concluded Tom, his gentle smile completely interrupting her thoughts. "That's nice."

Sybil pursed her lips, wondering whether she should tell him about Larry. After all, she _had_ applied for Whittington Hospital because he had gotten a job at the HSBC headquarters in Canary Wharf. For some reason, she didn't want Tom to know about him just yet – in a way, it would feel like bursting the perfect bubble that had been that night so far. But at the same time, she felt like she couldn't lie to him – not like Larry had lied to her several times over the past few years, at least.

"Well," she began, chewing on her inner cheek thoughtfully. "Actually, yes, I came here on duty. But I also decided to move all the way down from York because of my boyfriend. He studied Economics at Cambridge and wanted to be a banker since he was, what, nine years old, so he moved here first chance he got."

Tom seemed to pause for a few moments after that, as though trying to digest what she had just said. "Oh. So there's a boyfriend."

"No, no!" She answered quickly. "Not now, anyway. We broke up a couple of months ago."

"Oh." Was that relief on Tom's face? The man looked at her with a moderately curious expression, and asked, "Why did that happen? I mean, I'm no one to pry, but . . ."

"Oh, no, it's okay," she shrugged. "We – well, I guess we weren't that intimate anymore, but I didn't realize it at first. You know, we were both really young, and we had just moved here from the countryside, and I spent my days wandering around the city and visiting my sisters, whom I hadn't been able to see on a weekly basis since they left for university over ten years ago. But I never thought we were at a bad place or anything, until . . . well, until I caught him in bed with a friend from work that I'd once brought home for dinner."

Sybil couldn't help but feel surprised upon realizing that she had been able to talk about it freely, without feeling any sort of remorse or guilt or even the amount of pain that had engulfed her on the first days after the break-up. She even felt like a weight was being lifted off her shoulders by confiding her thoughts in Tom – she had never talked about it with anyone other than her sisters, and it somehow felt relieving to realize that she was beginning to come to terms with the fact that the whole mess she'd gotten herself into hadn't been her fault, but Larry's. Because, in the end, that was what had made her feel so incredibly miserable over the past couple of months – not the idea of losing Larry, because she had never genuinely thought she loved him, or at least not the way her parents or Matthew and Mary loved each other; but, however, she couldn't bear to think that her disinterest or spontaneous manners had been what had led Larry to begin an affair with a woman he hardly knew.

"Bastard," he heard Tom mutter under his breath. "What the hell was wrong with him?"

"I don't know, honestly," she sighed. "I guess we were at a sort of bad place, but I never realized it because I was too caught up in the whole 'moving-to-London' hype. And well, I always knew that he wouldn't be the most _constant_ boyfriend. We've known each other since primary school, and he's always been the sort of guy who used to have a weekly fling until our friends set us up."

"I really can't picture you dating someone like that," he said, shaking his head. Upon realizing that Sybil was looking at him with a rather funny expression, he coughed and added, "I mean, I don't know you that much, but I'd figured you would have been in a relationship with a more . . . decent man."

"Define decent, Tom?" she teased.

"Um, well . . . someone who knows who Emmeline Pankhurst and Virginia Woolf were, at least?"

"Fair point, Mr. Irishman."

They both laughed and, when nothing could be heard but Sybil's soft giggles and Tom's gentle chuckles, the girl realized that, much to her surprise, she hadn't felt as happy as she was in that moment since a very long time ago. Not since before leaving for university, at least. In a way, he made her feel at home – not in the sense of overwhelm that she felt at the sight of her family's estate at Downton, but more like the idea of a cozy, small home that she had dreamt of ever since she was a little girl.

"You know, Tom," she said with a faint smile. "I'm glad I bumped into that French Revolutionary cockade of yours. Even if you don't like Ed Sheeran and would ramble on and on about the Irish War of Independence."

"Why, thank you," he replied, rolling his eyes; however, he couldn't help but smile too. "But yes, I'm glad I bumped into your Annie Hall hat too. Even if you like Ed Sheeran and would rather talk about feminism, or how dreadfully snobbish Cambridge is."

"For the record, it _is_ really snobbish, you know," she laughed, eyeing him with an amused expression. She bit her lip at the sight of his bright blue eyes and, mustering up the courage that an outspoken girl like her surprisingly needed in that moment, she added, "Anyway, the thing is . . . well, I really mean it when I say I'm glad I met you, Tom. I might not know you well enough yet, but – the truth is, tonight is the most fun I've had in years."

"Yeah, tonight has been pretty fun," he mused, a smile spreading across his face as she spoke. Sybil felt how he caught her hand in his, rubbing his thumb ever so gently against her skin. His eyes met hers again and he said, in a lower tone, "Truth be told, I'd be glad to get to know you better, Sybil. That is, if you'll let me."

Sybil nodded vigorously, and smiled at the goofy grin that had taken hold of Tom's face as his hand slowly went up to her face. He caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers, sending shivers down Sybil's spine and making the girl smile in anticipation. The tenderness of his touch and the brightness in his eyes made her feel completely and utterly lost for a few seconds, in a world where nothing but the two of them mattered and nothing was more important to her than kissing the lips of the man standing in front of her.

And that was, of course, when her phone rang and Tom's lips, inches away from hers, parted in a light chuckle.

"I'm – oh, for God's sake," she whispered as she pulled her phone out and saw the name _MARY QUEEN OF SCOTCH TAPE_ on its screen. "I've got to pick it up – my sisters might be on the verge of contacting the MI5."

"All right, all right," he said, a mixture of amusement and only very subtle frustration in his voice.

She sighed and unlocked her phone, getting ready for what was likely to become one of Mary's legendary scolds.

" _SYBIL_ ," her older sister hissed through the phone. "Where _are_ you? We've been looking for you for the past twenty minutes, and the guy at the entrance just told us you left over two hours ago. For God's sake, Matthew even had to ring Larry in case you'd gotten drunk and decided to pay him a visit or something."

Sybil couldn't help but frown at her sister's words. She knew Mary found it hard to be _nice_ sometimes, so to speak, especially when she felt distressed or angry – however, it still baffled her that her older sister would say something like that.

"Actually," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "I'm nowhere near Larry's house. I'm right next to Victoria Station."

"Victoria Station?" Mary repeated. Sybil could practically imagine the redness in her cheeks and Edith and Matthew's worried faces next to her. "What on _Earth_ are you doing there, Sybil Cora Crawley? I swear on Grandpa Crawley's grave – "

She heard some fidgeting at the other end of the line, then Mary complaining about not being allowed to hold her own phone, and finally Matthew's lower but calmer voice. "Sybil? Hi, it's Matthew. I'm sorry about that, Mary was really worried about you. I believe she said you're at Victoria Station?"

"Yes, exactly," she sighed. "I'm here, but don't worry. I'm not alone, and I can get back in a few minutes. I'm sorry I worried you all, I didn't think you would notice."

"Well, of course we did, Sybil," Matthew said gently. "Are you sure you don't want us to go pick you up? And how come you're not alone?"

"I . . . I'll see you there, don't worry," she said quickly. "Bye, Matthew." And, before her sister's boyfriend could utter another word, she hung up and looked at Tom with a worried expression. "I just ruined everything, right?"

"What?" he asked, clearly perplexed. "No, not at all! It's okay, I get that your sisters would get concerned if you suddenly went missing. I gather that we're meant to be heading back to the club, then?"

"I'm afraid so," she nodded, but added quietly, "Tom?"

"Hm?"

"I'm still going to kiss you, if that's okay."

His eyebrows rose, but he immediately nodded, a broad smile on his face. "Gladly."

And so she did, standing on her tiptoes and pulling at the flaps of his red revolutionary jacket as her Annie Hall hat fell to the ground.

* * *

"Oh, heavens," Mary sighed at the sight of her youngest sister, a little over half an hour later. "I already thought she'd gotten lost or something."

"Relax, Mary," Matthew said, squeezing her hand. He nodded towards the man walking next to her, visibly amazed by how little he resembled Sybil's ex-boyfriend. "Besides, it seems like she found herself some company."

"Who is that, anyway?" asked Edith, eyeing the young man carefully.

"Who cares?" countered Mary, shaking her head. "I just want to go home and catch some sleep. My feet are killing me, and I still have to text Mama to tell her that Sybil's okay and hasn't been kidnapped after all."

"You told Mama _what_?"

"Well, you know, it was a precautionary measure."

"I can't _believe_ you sometimes, Mary."

"And I can't believe you didn't even bother looking for our little sister while Matthew and I were away."

"Well, she's not a baby! She can take care of herself."

"Unlike you, apparently."

Sybil, only a few meters away from them, glanced at Tom and let out a sigh upon listening to her sister's light quarreling. They had already exchanged phone numbers and agreed to text each other as soon as possible – but Sybil did not feel like letting go of that night just yet. Not if it meant leaving Tom just to be scolded by Mary, with occasional interventions made by Matthew or Edith to remark how immature it had been of her to wander off with some man she didn't even know.

"Do you think they'll want to murder me?" Tom asked quietly.

"No, I don't think Matthew and Edith would necessarily have anything against you," she answered thoughtfully. "I'm not so sure about Mary, though."

Tom groaned. "So much for starting off with the right foot."

Sybil laughed, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before Mary's voice brought them back to reality.

"Sybil," she sighed, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder. "For God's sake, I can't believe you did that. Why didn't you tell us you were leaving? And with who, for that matter?"

"Well, nevermind that now," Matthew said in a peaceful tone, and then smiled at the man in front of him and stuck out his hand. "Matthew Crawley, nice to meet you."

"Tom Branson," the other man replied, shaking his hand, and then looked at the other two women. "I gather you're Mary and Edith."

"Indeed we are," said Mary, perhaps a bit too sharply. She then looked at Sybil again and added, "I think we should head home now. Does your friend need a ride?"

"Oh, no, I can manage on my own," Tom said quickly. "The tube's about to open anyway."

"Right you are," Matthew said and, sensing that his girlfriend's sister and the younger man needed a moment alone, he added, "I suppose we should go fetch the car then. Mary, Edith, will you come with me while the two of them say goodbye?"

"Um – sure, that's a good idea," Edith said, still not quite wrapping her head around what had just happened. She placed a hand on Mary's shoulder and muttered something about making her a good cup of tea when they got home and, with that, the three of them were gone.

Sybil sighed and, when her sisters and Matthew were out of earshot, she said, "I'm terribly sorry, I promise. They're just – well, I kind of get why they're acting like this, because I hadn't left the house until tonight and – "

"Hey, hey, don't worry," Tom said reassuringly, placing his hands atop of hers. "I promise, it's okay. Let's just call it a night and we'll talk whenever you feel like it, all right?"

"Well . . . all right, then," she sighed, and smiled at the feeling of his skin against hers. "So you'll let me know when you're free to get some coffee, right?"

"Right you are, Sybil Crawley," he said, a bright smile on his face. "Now, off you go. I don't want your big sister to rip my head off."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Well, you've clearly earned yourself a goodbye kiss, Tom Branson."

 _And I hope it won't be the last_ , she thought moments before standing on her tiptoes and placing her lips against his for a few seconds. She then beamed at him one last time and, upon hearing Mary's loud complain about how obnoxious everyone was being that night, gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before walking back to the car.

Little did she know that, in fact, that would be the first of the many goodbye kisses she was to give Tom Branson over the course of the years.

* * *

 **Well, that's that! I hope you enjoyed it. I'm super sorry for the late update – I wanted to have this done by Monday or Tuesday, but those days were strangely hectic for me, and then I left on vacation on Wednesday and yadda yadda yadda – so anyway, here it is, a week later than I promised. I hope it's not too terrible, since it's my first attempt at portraying these characters – but I've really enjoyed it, so I'm sure I'll be back to writing some Downton Abbey fanfiction soon enough. Until then, please let me know what you thought of this one via review!**

 **-cluelessclown.**


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